


Two Can Play

by dracoqueen22



Series: Tethers [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bath Sex, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking Contest, F/M, Original Character(s), Pre-Canon, Sexual Content, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27558364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: Rathi has more time than she knows what to do with, before she has to take the throne, and she’ll find her entertainment where she can – even if it comes at the hands of a mysterious auburn stranger.
Relationships: Rathi of the Cinders/Sinoun
Series: Tethers [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1455610
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

Rathi _loves_ the mortal plane.  
  
She hadn’t realized, until she set foot up here, how lively and random and amazing it is. She thought she’d miss the warmth of her home, the familiarity and predictability of it.  
  
Honestly, she hasn’t missed it once. Her father, yes. Her comfortable bed, yes. Her ready and available bathing room, most certainly.  
  
Everything else?  
  
Not one bit. There’s so much to see here. So much to do. So much to eat.  
  
So much to drink.  
  
Rathi has never tasted so many varieties of booze before. Ales and meads and liquors and strange concoctions made from strange creatures or strange plants. Some of it sweet but devastating, some of it bitter and light. She’s got a sterner constitution than most of the mortals, but one cup of fireberry mead knocks her on her ass faster than she can burp.  
  
It’s amazing.  
  
And the challenges! Mortals are constantly challenging each other to feats of skill and strength and ability. Rathi’s won and lost her fair share of arm-wrestling tournaments and physical combats and athletic trials.  
  
She may have lost the eating contest, but she refuses to lose the drinking contest. So long as they don’t bring out any fireberry mead, she’s going to win.  
  
Rathi slaps down her five gold for the entrance fee and winks at the man taking all the entrants and assigning them. He gives her an assessing look, then a dismissive one.  
  
“You’re a little tiny to be competing, aren’t ya?” he asks as he takes her coin and gives her a piece of wood with a number scraped on it in charcoal.  
  
She’s competitor number seventeen.  
  
“It’s not the size of the boat,” Rathi tells him with an appraising look she turns into a sneer. “Everyone knows it’s the motion.” She winks and saunters away as he sputters behind her and mutters something in one of the mortal tongues she doesn’t know.  
  
There are two long tables arranged beneath the tent, already crowded with people of all sorts, their wooden placards sitting in front of them. Only a few places remain, and Rathi opts to take the empty space at the right table, as opposed to either of the empty seats on the left, where the occupants look unfriendly and unwelcoming.  
  
She’s not afraid of unfriendly and unwelcoming people, but she’d rather enjoy this challenge, not have to deal with assholes and elbows.  
  
Rathi whips out the last open chair on the left and slides into it, setting her piece of wood down in front of her. There’s a dwarf to her left, and a human male to her right, both of whom are having spirited conversations to the individuals on their other side. Across from her is another male, but she can’t quite tell his lineage, and he’s sat between two gnomes who are having a conversation behind his back. Literally.  
  
He’s got a head of brown-red hair, tousled curls falling loose past his shoulders, and the scruff of a beard that could use some maintenance. His clothing is probably ostentatious for a mortal, but would fit right in at Cinder Mountain. He catches Rathi looking and throws her a grin, one hand flicking his hair over a shoulder.  
  
“Well, well, well, you must be a new challenger,” he says, eyeing her wood block with a raised eyebrow.  
  
“Aren’t we all?” Rathi asks.  
  
He laughs and taps his own wooden block, which has the number one etched into the surface. "I'm the champion," he says with an air of self-importance. "I'm the one you have to beat."  
  
"Oh." Rathi looks him up and down -- he's handsome enough, a bit on the slim side, his eyes an odd shade of green-purple which suggests he's not as mortal as some might think. It's the arrogance, however, which makes her smirk and say, "Should be easy then."  
  
"Aren't you confident." His gaze rakes over her, lingering on her missing arm, but there's no trace of pity in the notice. "With great reason, I imagine. You've seen battle."  
  
Rathi arches a brow. "Battle has nothing to do with constitution." She leans forward, bracing her only elbow on the table. "Truly, it's about the fire." She winks, and her hair flickers with flame before she promptly smothers it back to the glossy black spikes.  
  
"Touche." He scrubs his fingers around the sparse beard before dragging two across his lips. "The name's Sinoun. Might I have yours, if you're to beat me after all?"  
  
"Rathi."  
  
He nods slowly, repeats her name as if tasting it, before a smile creeps over his lips. "And what brings you to this fair plane, Rathi?"  
  
"You're certain I'm not from here?" Rathi asks, tilting her head.  
  
Sinoun laughs, but there's nothing mocking about it. Amused, certainly, and possibly intrigued. "Like calls to like."  
  
A tankard hits the table in front of Rathi, an amber liquid sloshing around inside. "Don't touch it yet, missie," a gruff voice warns before moving on, thunking more tankards to the other competitors, a hush falling over the loud chatter.  
  
"And so it begins," Sinoun says. "When I win, be sure to congratulate me."  
  
Rathi snorts. "You mean, when I win?"  
  
"You're awfully confident. Care to make a friendly wager?" Sinoun asks as he lifts a pouch from his belt and sets it on the table beside his tankard, coins jangling noisily inside.  
  
Their talk seems to have gathered some attention, Rathi realizes, as the competitors to either side of her and Sinoun now lean in, staring at the pouch of coins.  
  
"I have plenty coin of my own." Rathi waves a dismissive hand and eyes Sinoun's fine clothing, the sense of magic which hangs around him like a second skin. "What've you got that's rare?"  
  
"Hmm. You're bold. I like it." Sinoun taps his bottom lip thoughtfully before his eyes brighten and he works one of the rings off his fingers. It's a silver band dotted with tiny, dark gems. "This is a guardian ring. Will that suffice?"  
  
Several sharp inhalations echo around Rathi. Fellow competitors look on with lust and envy.  
  
Rathi grins. "Absolutely."  
  
"Don't you match it with coin either. I want something unique as well," Sinoun tells her as Rathi starts to dig into her pockets and pouch.  
  
She already knows what to wager.  
  
There, in the very bottom of her satchel, wrapped in leather and protected with a simple spell, is a small pouch. She removes a single jewel, about the size of a walnut, before replacing the pouch. She sets it on the table between them, right next to the ring.  
  
"Do you know what this is?" Rathi asks.  
  
Sinoun's eyes glitter with recognition. "I do. But perhaps our curious friends might like to know."  
  
"This," Rathi says with a smirk and a tap to the gem, as black as night except when it catches the light and reflects a brilliant rainbow, "is an obsidian pearl, found only in the mouths of what swims in the Mercury Sea."  
  
What makes it most valuable is not so much the rarity of the gem, but the fact it is uncut, which means the owner can shape it for their own use, rather than be restricted. Wizards would drool over it, as would clerics. It would catch a hefty sum on the open market, or it could be kept as a magical focus, or built into a magical weapon.  
  
"Your wager is accepted," Sinoun says, and yes, there's most definitely lust in his voice and in his eyes. He wants the pearl with every fiber of his being.  
  
Interesting.  
  
Rathi sticks out her hand. "Then let's see which of us wins."  
  
Sinoun sweeps her hand up into a firm grip, the tingle of magic buzzing between their palms. Ooo, he's definitely something not-mortal. There's something in his blood, either recently or distantly. He tastes of magic.  
  
"Greetings and salutations, my good friends! Welcome to the twentieth annual Battle for the Brew!" A voice booms above the gathered crowd as the last of the initial tankards are dispersed and servers step back, hovering and ready to replace them. "There's a hefty purse at stake, as well as bragging rights, and we all know which of the two is more important, eh?"  
  
"Aye!" The chorus rises up around them.  
  
Rathi chuckles and waits, one eye on the wager in the middle of the table, the other on her fellow competitors, including Sinoun. None of them can match the fire in her belly.  
  
"Aye," the announcer agrees. They've a gentle face, rosy cheeks, hair a halo of ginger curls, and big brown eyes. "Now I'm Salsa, the owner of this here establishment, and the barrels have been donated by the various breweries around here. The first round is on the Kunaits, eh? Give them a round of applause!"  
  
Cheers and stomping feet and fists pounding and hands clapping rise into a riot of noise. It would be deafening if they were indoors. Thank the gods they aren’t.  
  
"All right, all right." Salsa holds up his hands to call for attention. "Now, let me explain the rules. It's pretty simple. You drink your tankard. You finish your tankard. You turn it upside-down, and someone brings you another. The last one standing, the last one conscious without wasting all this good ale in an upchuck is the winner!"  
  
More cheers.  
  
Rathi's skin vibrates. Anticipation twists around in her belly like the dance of a bonfire.  
  
Salsa grins and takes a short-handled mallet from a server nearby, the end swaddled in cloth. "Let the challenge begin!" he shouts and swings the mallet at a massive metal plate, a resounding echo of sound ringing through the packed space.  
  
The cheering becomes cacophonous. The two tables of competitors are surrounded by servers and a thick crowd of non-participants, themselves clutching mugs of ale as they cheer on their friends or family or favorites.  
  
Rathi looks across the table, catches Sinoun's eye, sweeps up her first tankard, and winks as she starts to chug it down. The beer bubbles over her tongue, warm and bitter and far from her favorite flavor. It's the bottom of the barrel, last of the dregs, and it's horrible.  
  
Rathi shudders and tries not to think about taste as she empties the tankard of every drop, and turns it upside down on the table. One down.  
  
Another full tankard sloshes into place in front of her. Then a third. Both go down same as the first, warm and sour and horrible. She's never drinking another Kunait blend so long as she's in this area. Some people might like their beer to be bitter, but not Rathi.  
  
Three empty tankards line up in front of her upside-down. Across the table, Sinoun finishes the last of his third tankard, and it joins his line. He wipes his mouth, looking pleased with himself.  
  
"How're you feeling?" he asks.  
  
"I've had better," Rathi says.  
  
Sinoun tips his head back and laughs.  
  
Someone at the end of the table keels over. Another one drops his third tankard, spilling beer all over the table, and a server thrusts a bucket under him just as he regurgitates every last drop.  
  
Che. Lightweights. They've barely begun.  
  
"That's two competitors down already!" Salsa shouts above the masses as more tankards are brought around, this time filled with a darker liquid, thicker than the Kunait brew, giving off a faintly anise odor. "Next round comes to us from the Duvenes! May we all give them our patronage as a show of thanks."  
  
The gong peals through the building again, and Rathi grabs her tankard, fully intending to toss it back as quickly as she can. That guardian ring is going to be hers.  
  
The first gulp flows over her tongue.  
  
Ohhh, this one's thick. Thick like honey mead, harder to suck down, but much tastier as a result. It's more spicy than sweet. It's pepper and anise and mint, balanced by the sweetness of honey, with a bit of a chill. It goes down smooth, but heavy, and takes longer to drink.  
  
Two go down easily, the third she has to take a little slower, to let the first two settle more firmly in her belly, sending a familiar fire flushing through her body. Duvene is heavier than Kunait, and they don't mix well.  
  
A little burp escapes before Rathi can stop it, but she's fine. Absolutely fine. She sets her sixth tankard down with a triumphant pump of her fist, and contemplates the competition.  
  
Round two hit hard and fast. Of the two dozen or so people of all ages, races, and genders, there are only five left, including Rathi and Sinoun. Some passed out face first on the table. Others had fallen backward in their chairs. Even more hold buckets, looking gray in the face, no matter their complexion.  
  
Sinoun fans himself, looking a little flushed. It's a good look for him, honestly. Rathi imagines it's what he looks like in bed, reddened with pleasure, his skin dotted with sweat.  
  
Now there's a thought.  
  
She imagines what he’d look like beneath her, perhaps bound so he has no choice but to take what she offers and nothing more. And he’d beg for it, his arrogance burned away by the force of his arousal.  
  
Mmm. Tasty indeed.  
  
"How're you feeling?" Rathi asks, to be smart, and Sinoun's eyes are a little glazed as they wander her direction.  
  
"Me?" he asks, and his smile is lopsided, and he misses when he tries to toss his hair over his shoulder, at least the first time. "Well, I'm fit as a fiddle."  
  
"I can tell." Rathi tugs on her collar a little, the inner heat flushing her skin, and Sinoun's watery gaze drops to the small slice of bared skin. His pupils dilate.  
  
Rathi preens.  
  
"And now we're at the final round! Unless, of course, these fine competitors need a fourth." Salsa directs a huge wink at the increasingly inebriated crowd, sending them into rales of laughter. "Be ready, my friends. Because the Chisholm blend has a real kick to it."  
  
A new tankard slides onto the table in front of Rathi, the liquid inside almost as clear as water, with little bubbles rising to the top and absolutely no foam. It gives off no odor, and Rathi's tongue waters a bit. The least assuming drinks usually pack the hardest punch.  
  
"This one," Sinoun declares with a bit of a slur, "Is my favorite."  
  
"Nope. I don't touch Chisholm," says one of the other competitors as he shakes his head and gets up from the table. "I'm out."  
  
Interesting.  
  
"Four!" Salsa declares with a wide wave of his hands. "Four competitors left! Does anyone else at the table wish to forfeit?"  
  
"Not on your life," says one of the remaining women, a slight wisp of a thing with pale skin and pale eyes and a delicateness which belies the six tankards upside down in front of her.  
  
"I've never quit a day in me life," says a stout dwarf with braids sprouting from every inch of their beard, and even a few tiny ones in the longer hairs of their eyebrows.  
  
Rathi licks her lips and smirks. "I want that ring."  
  
Sinoun sits up straight and scratches painted fingernails through his sparse beard. "I'm not even tispy," he lies.  
  
"The Tilted Tavern takes no responsibility for any overindulgence then," Salsa says, and sketches them a salute. "Good luck!"  
  
Bong! goes the giant gong, and Rathi grabs her tankard. The ale spills over her tongue, light and airy and a bit bubbly. It's tart, with a hint of sweetness, but goes down as smooth as water. It has almost no discernible taste, and Rathi gulps it down with ease.  
  
One and two fill her gullet, starting to complain from too much liquid in too little time. It sloshes around, but Rathi's fine. Absolutely fine.  
  
She reaches for the third mug, but there are two of them now. She squints, and her fingers close around air. What the-- Is someone fucking with her?  
  
Rathi tries to grab the mug again. Nothing. Is it an illusion?  
  
She looks to her left, where the pale woman sits there, one hand curled around what would be her ninth tankard. She stares into space without blinking, unmoving. Her eyes look a little glazed. She lets out a snore.  
  
That's not creepy at all.  
  
"I give, I give," the dwarf cries, and they start weeping, burying their face in their folded arms, knocking over all of their empty tankards. "The Chisholm got me."  
  
"Isn't it delightful?" Sinoun slurs as he turns his third tankard upside down and adds it to his neat little line.  
  
"It would be," Rathi says. "If I could just grab it." She narrows her eyes and focuses, and the two full tankards in front of her shimmer and merge and become one. She grabs it before they can pull that trick again.  
  
Success.  
  
She tips her head back and guzzles the last of the tankard, ignoring the protest of her belly. She won't lose. She won't vomit, and she won't pass out. By her pride as heir to the Cinders, she won't let a little drink defeat her.  
  
Rathi slams the tankard upside down and throws Sinoun a triumphant, if not lopsided smile. "There," she says as a halo sparkles into view around Sinoun's head, full of rainbow colors. It's pretty. "Done."  
  
Sinoun points a wobbly finger at her. "You," he says, "are incredible."  
  
"I know." Rathi shifts in the chair, slumping down a little, trying to make room for her protesting belly. "And I'm going to win."  
  
"Well, well, well." Salsa approaches the table and looks them over with an approving nod. "Looks like we have a third round tie. Lucky then that I have the perfect tiebreaker for happy accidents like these. Neema?"  
  
"Coming, dear!" A dwarf woman with cheeks to match the rosiness of Salsa's comes out from behind the bar, bearing a tray with little tumblers of a dark liquid inside.  
  
Rathi's shoulders sag with relief. At least it's not fireberry.  
  
"It's time for a lightning round, my friends," Salsa declares as Neema rests the tray on the table, the tumblers rattling ominously, but the liquid inside barely stirring. "Drink til you drop. The first one to tap out, pass out, or spew out, is the loser."  
  
Rathi grins. "Sounds great."  
  
"I'm ready when you are," Sinoun says.  
  
The people cheer and crowd around the table, leaning in with their smells and their heat and their drunken selves, all of them eager to see who the victor is going to be.  
  
"Sound the gong!" Salsa shouts and the crowd hollers their excitement as the low sounds rings through the air.  
  
Rathi sweeps up the first cup, getting a whiff of something earthy and vaguely pinesappy, before she takes her first gulp. It seeps over her tongue, thick like syrup, and numbs immediately where it touches. It seems to expand to twice its volume, and it's all Rathi can do to swallow the whole mass of it, her stomach churning and a hard knot forming behind her lungs.  
  
It's absolutely vile.  
  
Her vision wavers. She nearly knocks over a tankard in an attempt at turning the tumbler upside down. She wobbles in her seat, managing a sloppy grin, as her stomach rolls.  
  
She sweeps up the second tumbler and steals a glance at Sinoun. He's got what seems to be his first still in hand, half-empty now, and there's a queer look on his face.  
  
"Thisss," he slurs, like his tongue isn't obeying him. He frowns, licks his lips, brings the cup to his mouth before lowering it without taking so much as a sip. "This ought to be illegal."  
  
Rathi holds her breath, delaying her consumption of the second one. Because if Sinoun can't finish his first, she won't have to force herself through another.  
  
"Aye, that's the rust talking, sure enough," Salsa says with a bit of a friendly elbow to Sinoun's shoulder that nearly topples him from the chair. "Gives the flavor a bit of kick, doesn't it?"  
  
Sinoun smacks his lips like someone trying to keep from vomiting. "Rust," he repeats with a shudder. "Like iron." He sets the cup down and wobbles left and right. "Thisssss." He groans, long and low, and puts his head on the table. "The world spinsh. Make it shtop."  
  
Salsa laughs. "And you, my dear?"  
  
Rathi taps her upside-down tumbler. "Drank it all. Could go for another but why waste good brew, eh?" She winks at both of Salsa, and ignores the riot brewing in her belly. She'd clocked the washrooms earlier.  
  
They're gonna be her first stop.  
  
"Why indeed?" Salsa rounds the table and claps her on the back. "Congratulations! And what is the name of our new champion?"  
  
"Rathi," she says, wobbling as she climbs to her feet, her only hand gripping her chair to keep her upright. "But you can call me the cinder queen."  
  
Salsa's laughter rings long and loud over the celebrating masses. "Rathi, it is!"  
  
He grabs her good hand away from the chair, and his grip is all that keeps her upright, her knees wobbling, and her stomach giving several warning gurgles.  
  
Rathi forces a big smile onto her lips, through the smear of color and sound that is the crowd. "Three cheers for our new champion!"  
  
"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"  
  
"Huzzah," Sinoun groans, barely audible above the din.  
  
Salsa lets her go, and Rathi scrambles to grab the chair again, before she topples over. Her belly starts to cramp, the back of her throat feeling hot and prickly. It's too much, too fast.  
  
The bartender reaches across the table, sweeping the wooden block with the champion's number carved into the surface. He shoves it at Rathi until she takes it.  
  
"Free drinks for life. Or at least until someone claims it from you," he says with a wink, and turns away from her, easily cleaving through the masses of people as he makes his way back to the bar itself. "Newest round is half-price for the next minute. Get it while you can!"  
  
The promise of cheap drink is enough for a surge of patrons to rush toward the bar, shouting their orders and waving their coin in the air. It gives Rathi room to breathe, to tuck the wooden block into her pocket, and focus on the two items still sitting in the middle of the table -- luckily no one nicked them when she wasn't paying attention.  
  
"I believe this is mine," she says as she retrieves her obsidian pearl and raps her fingers on the table next to the guardian ring.  
  
Sinoun looks up at her with a watery eye. "A deal's a deal," he says, his grin sloppy and crooked. "You've earned it." He closes his eye, groans, and forces himself up, a crease in his cheek from where he'd laid his head upon the table. He hums as he braces his chin on his palm. "I like you."  
  
Rathi snorts as she slides the guardian ring onto her middle finger, only to realize it's too big, so she moves it to her thumb instead. Perfect.  
  
"You're cute," she says, because it's true, he's loose-limbed and relaxed in his inebriated state, that annoying confident smirk given way to a smile and a flush. "But you're wasted, and that's not me. Find me when you're sober."  
  
Sinoun hums a laugh. "I can be sober," he says.  
  
"I don't think magic works that way, but good try." Rathi chuckles.  
  
Her stomach gurgles. Her eyes widen. She backs away from the table.  
  
"Anyway," Rathi says, tossing him a friendly salute so it doesn't look like she's running away. "This was fun, but I gotta split." She points a thumb over her shoulder, and vanishes into the crowd before Sinoun can stop her.  
  
He might have called after her, but Rathi ignores it. She pushes through the crowd, enduring congratulations and pats on the back and more than a few mugs of ale shoved under her nose, as if she wants to drink even more after downing what feels like a barrelful of various intoxicating liquids.  
  
Urk.  
  
She finds the washroom, mercifully empty, and kicks the door shut, throwing the wooden latch over it so no one disturbs her. It reeks in here, no one's emptied the pot in ages, but it'll do. There's no time to make for the alley.  
  
It's worth it, she thinks as her stomach cramps. This ring makes it all worth it.  
  


***


	2. Chapter 2

Late morning sunlight streams over her eyes, and Rathi groans, turning away from it. Her head pounds. Her mouth tastes like sandpaper. Her abdomen hurts.  
  
"I was wrong," she moans, pulling a pillow over her head. "It wasn't worth it."  
  
An airy chuckle rings through the air. ' _But quite amusing to watch_.'  
  
Rathi peers out from under the pillow, but her vision is fuzzy, and she can't find a single reflective surface in the room she doesn't much remember paying for. She hopes she paid for it. If not, she'll have to make her apologies and hand over the proper coin.  
  
Last night is a blur. She vaguely remembers spending a good twenty minutes in the washroom, and then stumbling out in search of a place to crash. The alcohol hit her unexpectedly hard -- what's in that Chisholm for gods' sake? -- and she hadn't been able to celebrate like she wanted. She'd crashed into bed, only taking the time to kick off her shoes and throw off her armor.  
  
"Glad I could entertain," Rathi mutters as she closes her eyes and thumps her head on the pillow. The world spins, and her stomach clenches on nothing. "Anyway you could, I dunno, lay a little fire on me and help this?"  
  
'’ _What was it you said to the pretty one? Magic doesn't work that way?_ '  
  
Rathi hums and squirms a little on the mattress which smells of stale hay and unwashed human. Gross. "Mm. He was pretty, wasn't he?"  
  
' _I would've liked to taste him._ '  
  
"Yeah. Me, too."  
  
Rathi sighs and debates lying there for a few seconds more, before she gives up on sleep. Her head pounds far too much, and she's already wasted half a day. Maybe the barkeep sells salica packets.  
  
She drags herself out of bed, yawning all the while, a sharp ache at the back of her skull. She slides into her leather breastplate and tugs on her shoes, fumbling at the laces with unsteady fingers. There's a small mirror hanging on the back of the door, and that's where Firenya watches her, a puff of orange-red flame billowing behind the glass.  
  
"Did you pop in just to tease me?" Rathi asks as she takes a free corner of the mirror to push her hair into some kind of order.  
  
There's no help for it. Her makeup is smeared, as are the lines of kohl on her forehead and clavicle. There are dark circles around her brown eyes, and even her long lashes look limp. She needs a bath.  
  
' _It is a favorite past-time_.' The billow of fire and smoke shapes into a face, the lovely lines of Firenya's visage. ' _Be safe, my jewel. I will be watching_.' She smiles, and Rathi feels the caress of wind-touched fire across her brow before the mirror clears, and Firenya is gone.  
  
Rathi's face looks even more a mess in her absence. Oh, well.  
  
She scrubs the back of her hand and arm over her face to wipe away the worst of the kohl smear, and checks the room to make sure she's not inadvertently leaving anything behind. The guardian ring glints on her thumb, and Rathi grins.  
  
Okay. Still worth it.  
  
She trundles downstairs with little grace, making her way to the innkeep behind the bar, who smiles warmly upon a sight of her.  
  
"Well, if it isn't our champion," Neema greets with a cheerier tone of voice than should be allowed.  
  
Rathi winces and rubs her temple. "Not so loud, if you please."  
  
Neema chuckles and ducks down behind the counter, only to re-emerge with a stone jar, of which she lifts the lid. "Got the morning-afters, eh? This oughta perk you right up." She fishes around in and it and pulls out a small bit of folded of paper.  
  
"Please tell me that's salica," Rathi says, already fumbling for her money pouch.  
  
"That it is. Three copper to fix ya up."  
  
Rathi hands over the coin and accepts the salica with a smile. "I did pay for my room, right? I didn't just drunkenly stumble into an empty one and steal it?"  
  
Neema chuckles and tucks the stone jar back into place. "You did. No worries, dear."  
  
Thank gods.  
  
Rathi unfolds the paper and dumps all of the bitter powder onto her tongue. She washes it down with the small tumbler of water Neema pushes at her, and then leans against the counter for a minute, rubbing her temple.  
  
"Would ya like some breakfast?"  
  
Rathi groans and gives Neema a watery look. "No, thanks. I don't want to think about food." She rakes her hand through her hair. "Is there a bathhouse nearby?" She can smell the drunk-sweat on herself, and it's gross.  
  
"Two blocks down and on your left. The Swabby Lass. Ya can't miss it." Neema sweeps away the tumbler and tucks it into a dish bin.  
  
"The Swabby Lass? Aren't we pretty far inland?"  
  
Neema winks at her. "That's the joke, eh?"  
  
Not really a funny one. Rathi sighs and knocks her knuckles on the counter, leaving a gold piece behind. "Thanks for the info."  
  
"Anytime, dear!"  
  
Rathi steps out of the bar, and winces at the bright, midday sun. There's not a cloud in the sky to grant her a shred of dignity. She stumbles in the direction Neema had pointed, feeling wrung out and exhausted, despite her extra sleep.  
  
She catches a whiff of cinnamon and gets distracted, wandering off the street to find a small stall tucked between two buildings, manned by two ladies in simple dresses, their cheeks dusted with flour, their elfin faces a match of dusky skin and freckles.  
  
"Cinnabun for your day?" one of them suggests. The other holds up a paper-wrapped sticky bun, oozing with icing and dotted with sugared nuts.  
  
Rathi's mouth waters. Her stomach grumbles. "How much?"  
  
"Two copper," they say in unison.  
  
Rathi gives them six copper, and stows two of the sticky buns for later, devouring the first of them on the way to the Swabby Lass, licking icing from her fingers. The sugar does marvels for her upset stomach, and helps chase away the lingering wooziness from her overindulgence.  
  
She gets back on track, wandering to the Swabby Lass with a calmer belly, contemplating one of the two pastries she'd stuffed into her bag. Cinnamon makes a healthy breakfast, right?  
  
The bathhouse is exactly where Neema said it would be, and Rathi has to take a moment to compose herself when she catches sight of it. She'll give it one thing -- it's dedicated to an aesthetic. It looks like someone has taken half a pirate ship and dropped it in the middle of a row of businesses, tattered sails flapping in the wind on the roof, and rough-hewn wood planks comprising the outside of the building. Nautical paraphernalia haphazardly decorates the exterior.  
  
It's as hideous as it is amazing.  
  
Rathi goes inside, instantly struck by a salty-earthy-organic odor she can't quite place. It's intensely warm, much warmer than the outside, and the air has that distinct dampness of all bathouses. There's one patron in line ahead of her, and Rathi fights off a yawn as she steps behind them.  
  
The door gives off another cheerful jingle as someone enters, and Rathi gives them a cursory glance. One must always be aware of their surroundings after all.  
  
Recognition strikes her – tumbles of auburn hair, purple-green eyes, a curved smirk made of plush lips.  
  
"Well, well, well, looks like we had the same idea," Sinoun says as he steps up behind her, his hair pulled into a loose bun at the crown of his head, his eyes unfairly bright and chipper. "You look like hell, my dear."  
  
"You don't," she says with an arched eyebrow. She looks him up and down -- clothes a little rumpled, but presentable, his face clean without a single hint of over-indulgence.  
  
Sinoun lifts his chin. "I told you I could fix that little intoxication problem. You just didn't wait around to find out."  
  
Rathi squints at him. "That's distinctly unfair. What are you? Wizard? Warlock? Sorcerer?" She leans in closer, catches a whiff of something spicy-sweet. "A witch?"  
  
"That would be telling," Sinoun winks. "I see my ring looks very nice on your thumb. That was a challenge well met. I'm impressed by your endurance."  
  
Rathi side-eyes him. "Somehow your compliment sounds like an insult, but I can't put my finger on why."  
  
Someone clears their throat noisily, and Rathi startles when she realizes the attendant is giving them both an impatient look, his eyebrows crawling up toward his receding hairline. How anyone can have such a dour demeanor in a place as gaudily decorated as this, Rathi has no idea.  
  
"Can I help you?" the man asks in a nasal tone. He sounds like he'd prefer they fucked off.  
  
Rathi jingles her coin pouch. "Sorry." She ducks her head sheepishly, like father taught her, to make people underestimate her. "Bath, please."  
  
Dark eyes slide from Rathi to Sinoun and back again. "Public or private?"  
  
"I'm sober, and so are you," Sinoun murmurs in her ear, and he's done something to his voice to make it sultry. Her spine tingles. "We could share."  
  
Now there's an idea. She had come to the mortal plane to explore and cut loose and have fun after all. And Sinoun, arrogant little shit that he is, would be an attractive dalliance for the afternoon. He does have some gloriously long legs.  
  
"It's an extra silver," the attendant says with a bored sigh. "To share."  
  
"Now that doesn't seem right," Sinoun says.  
  
The attendant shrugs and raps his fingers on the counter. "Extra clean up. Longer use time. Do the math. Do you want the private bath or not?"  
  
"I'll take it," Rathi says. "How much?"  
  
Sinoun's rolling chuckle shouldn't be as arousing as it is. But a low curl of heat starts in Rathi's belly, and all traces of overindulgence from the night before waft away. A little sweat is the best way to work off the drink, eh?  
  
She hands over her coin while the attendant drones, "Third door on the right. Use the sign, they don't lock. Thank you for gifting the Swabby Lass with your presence. Enjoy." He makes some mark on a register and dumps the coin into a basket.  
  
Rathi might believe him, if he hadn't said it all in a monotone.  
  
Rathi rolls her eyes and starts down the hall, Sinoun loping after her, casual as you please.  
  
"You paid for the bath," he says with a low note of humor in his voice. "I suppose that means you owe me one."  
  
Rathi glances over her shoulder, lets her gaze pointedly linger on Sinoun's lips. "I can think of a few ways to return the favor."  
  
"I'm sure you can."  
  
They pass rows of doors, half of them with the wooden sign flipped from 'Open' to 'Occupied.' Rathi finds the third one on the right and pushes it open, the damp heat in the air intensifying, and a wave of mint wafts over her.  
  
Curls of steam rise from a wooden tub set into the floor, just large enough for two, and deep enough she could be seated and have her shoulders covered. Bits of herb float in the water, which looks to have had maybe one or two uses. Practically untouched. Neatly folded towels wait on a bench nearby, and a few baskets hang from the ceiling containing vials of liquids and chunks of soaps and rolled up washrags.  
  
"I've seen better," Sinoun says as he peers over her shoulder. "But then again, I've seen worse. Shall we?"  
  
Rathi flips the sign on the door at the last minute and closes it behind her. The lack of a lock doesn't bother her. It doesn't seem to bother Sinoun either.  
  
"So," Sinoun says as he paces a low, slinking circle around the tub before approaching her. "How do you want to do this?"  
  
Rathi toes off her shoes -- no laces for one-armed folk, that would just be cruel. "It's a bath, isn't it? Strip. I want to see if you're worth it." She pulls off her own armor and sets her travel pack aside with her shoes.  
  
"That should be obvious already," Sinoun says, but he obeys.  
  
Rathi sits, crosses one knee over the other, and leans back against the wall, openly watching him disrobe. If he's so confident, she wants to see the goods first.  
  
His hands pause on his shirt, and he tilts his head. "What's this? You can't bathe with your clothes on."  
  
"In due time." She flicks her hand at him. "Continue. Unless, of course, you're ashamed."  
  
Sinoun snorts. "I've never been ashamed a day in my life." His eyes flicker with something arcane, so brief she almost misses it, and then he's tugging off his shirt and throwing it aside, revealing a tanned and toned upper torso, if a bit on the slim side. A faintly ginger treasure trail begins at his navel and vanishes into the low-slung belt.  
  
The boots come next, and there's really no way to remove knee-high boots in a sexy manner. Sinoun tugs them off with a huff and tosses them aside. She can't tell if the flush dotting his face, his chest, is from her watching him, or from the exertion. Maybe both.  
  
Rathi, to play fair, slips off her leather bracer. She's still in her pants gathered at the ankle, her mid-thigh, and appropriately sleeveless tunic. She’ll undress as she’s ready.  
  
Sinoun undoes his belt, lets it hang open over the ties of his breeches. He loosens them, curves his fingers in his waistband, and he pauses to catch her eye, as if making sure she's watching.  
  
"Go on," she says. "I'll bet that man can't wait to charge us extra if you take too long."  
  
"You have no sense of anticipation," Sinoun says, but his ears redden and his cheeks pink before he shoves his pants down his hips, his cock popping free because of course he doesn't wear smallclothes. Not someone like him.  
  
He's already half-hard and well on his way to full-firm. He shimmies out of his pants and then he's standing there, gloriously nude, bands of tattoos around his thighs and arms that Rathi can already imagine tracing with her fingertips.  
  
"Well?" he prompts.  
  
"Hmm." Rathi stands and stretches her arm idly. She approaches him and drags her fingertips over his chest, avoiding his nipples, admiring the heat of his skin. "You'll do."  
  
Sinoun snorts, and opens his mouth to speak, but Rathi silences him with a kiss. She doesn't bother to be gentle. She's got a keen sense for this sort of thing, and she thinks, no, not this one. Sinoun doesn't want gentle. He doesn't want Rathi to woo him. He wants her to take him.  
  
She can most certainly do that.  
  
She plunges her tongue into his mouth, bears her weight against him, feels his cock nudge against her abdomen, probably leaving a smear of pre-come against her tunic. Ah, it can be washed. She likes it like this -- him nude, her dressed -- as if she carries the power and he doesn't.  
  
He must like it, too, because he groans into her mouth and threads his fingers in her hair, and relents into the pressure of her body. She bites his lip, and he moans. She nudges a knee between his thighs, and he bucks against her. He tastes like he had ale and smoked sausage for breakfast, but beyond that, is something else.  
  
He tastes like magic.  
  
His hands wander down, to her shoulders, palms sliding across her clavicle, against the silky-soft pattern of her tunic. Rathi grins against his lips and tangles her fingers in his hair, giving it a sharp pull.  
  
He hisses as she tugs his head back with her grip, not enough to truly harm him, but to make a point -- she's the one in charge here, and he can either bend the knee or fight her for it. She's good either way.  
  
"It's hard to fuck you if you're not naked, my dear," Sinoun says, but his eyes are dark with heat, his breathing has quickened, and the press of his cock against her is a hard line of want.  
  
Damn, it's good to be right.  
  
His hands sweep down, cupping her breasts through the fabric of her tunic, and Rathi's not ashamed that her breath catches as his palms graze her nipples.  
  
"Fucking me is something you earn," she says and raises her knee again, grinding between his legs. His eyelids flutter.  
  
“Well then.” Sinoun chuckles, low and deep, and his fingers flutter over the fall of her tunic. "May I?"  
  
"I'm certainly not going to do it myself." Rathi lifts her chin in challenge, loosening her grip on his hair. It feels like silk against her fingers, so she yanks out whatever keeps it in the high bun, letting it tumble over his shoulders.  
  
She's a bit jealous. Perhaps she shouldn't have hacked off her hair after all, even if it is easier to manage with only one hand.  
  
He doesn’t protest, and his eyes go half-lidded.  
  
"Then allow me," Sinoun murmurs, his hands deft and sure as he lifts her sheath up and over her shoulders, baring her upper half to the humid air, save for the band she wears around her breasts, and struggles to wriggle into every time it must be changed.  
  
His palms glide over her shoulders, thumbs skimming her clavicle. A low rumble of appreciation rises in his chest, and just for that, Rathi curls her hand around his cock, giving him a long, thick pull.  
  
HIs back arches, his eyelids flutter, and that flush spreads across the bridge of his nose. He’s already dripping a little, and she gathers it up, rubs her palm around the crown of his dick, feels him throb against her fingers.  
  
She stops when he gives a thrust into her hand. “Bath first,” Rathi says, and twitches her hips at him. “My pants, if you please.”  
  
“I most certainly do.” Sinoun smirks and curves his fingers in her waistband. He slowly kneels as he draws them down over her hips, her thighs, her knees. They’re cast aside in a tumble and his hands drag up her legs, fingers tracing old scars with a curious tilt to his head.  
  
“You’ve seen battle,” he says.  
  
Rathi snorts. “Obviously.” She snaps her fingers. “Come on. The water’s getting cold.”  
  
“No, it won’t,” Sinoun says and he hooks his fingers in her smallclothes, sliding them down as well. This time, when his hands slide up, they stroke along her inner thighs.  
  
Rathi shifts her weight, planting her foot on the edge of the tub, opening herself to Sinoun’s long, curious fingers. She lifts her chin, smirking down at him, as he finds her center, and drags the pads of his fingertips over her plump folds.  
  
“Ah, I see I’m not the only one affected,” he says with a cheeky smirk, self-satisfied and prideful. His thumb strokes her clit, attempting to coax it into view.  
  
That just won’t do.  
  
She gets a handful of hair again, watches him shiver as she pulls and pulls and pulls until he stands, though he’s smart enough to keep one hand where it’ll do the most good -- namely between her legs, feather light against her damp.  
  
“My band,” Rathi says, trying to hide how her breathing has quickened, and the subtle rocks of her hips against the fingers teasing her nethers. “Take it off, too.”  
  
Sinoun’s lips quirk, half-smile, half-leer. “But then I’ll have to stop stroking you here.” He punctuates the tease with a curl of his finger, a stroke across her damp slit, and Rathi swallows a cry.  
  
“I want my bath,” Rathi says, though she really wants to cant her hips and ride Sinoun’s fingers until she comes, shaking around them, and pushes him down to take his cock for a second release.  
  
Later, she tells herself. She really does want that bath.  
  
Sinoun hums a laugh. "As you wish," he says, and his hands tickle up her ribs, thumbs scooting under the bottom edge of her breastband. His hands are unexpectedly soft, and Rathi shivers as he works her breastband off and tosses it aside, immediately cupping her breasts in its absence.  
  
"A perfect handful," he says as his thumbs sweep over Rathi's nipples, teasing them into tightness.  
  
She rolls her eyes. "I can think of something else that's only a handful." She slants her gaze downward pointedly, and Sinoun chuckles.  
  
"That's fair," he says. "Though I was being genuine, not disparaging."  
  
"Maybe you should think less about commenting on my physique and more about worshiping it," Rathi says, knocking her knee against his hip. He stumbles backward a bit, toward the bath.  
  
"I can do that." His thumbs, smooth like he's never done work a day in his life, circle her nipples, again and again, licks of pleasure radiating outward and curling in her groin.  
  
Rathi groans, tightening her grip on his hair, clenching down on nothing. It's a tormenting tease, and it's truly not enough. She pulls on his head, tries to guide it down. "Your mouth," she demands. "I'm sure it has other uses than talking."  
  
"Didn't you want a bath?"  
  
Ohhh, decisions, decisions. Fine. Soap first, his mouth later.  
  
"Fine." She lets go of his hair and gathers herself, stepping back. "You get the soap. I'll test the water. Make sure it's, you know, a good temperature."  
  
Amusement glitters in his eyes. He tweaks her nipples and dances back before she can swat him, but when he turns, his ass presents a perfect target. She gives it a playful smack, hard enough to make a point, but not leave a bruise. He jolts, and when he glances over his shoulder, his eyes are molten.  
  
"Don't make promises you're not going to keep," he says, his voice dipping into a lower register.  
  
"Get my soap and we'll see," Rathi counters, and busies herself with stepping down into the bath without falling in and making a fool of herself.  
  
She sighs with delight as the water encloses her body. It's perfectly hot and weirdly, pristine and clear, as if the water has not once been used. She distinctly remembers it being a little cloudy when they first arrived.  
  
It had to have been Sinoun. What kind of magic-user is he?  
  
Well. Rathi's hardly going to complain about it.  
  
She sinks into the fresh, faintly herbal water, and dips below the surface. She scrubs her fingers through her hair and against her scalp before she surfaces, feeling immediately refreshed. She wipes her hand over her face, scrubbing away the worst of the smeared make-up and kohl, when a cloth dangles in front of her eyes.  
  
Sinoun leans over her from the exterior, smirking. "This works much better," he says.  
  
She snatches it from him and dampens it in the water. "Aren't you going to join me?" she asks as she scrubs away the rest.  
  
"That's the plan."  
  
The water splashes as Sinoun joins her, and he does much the same as she, dipping below the water to fully dampen himself, his hair plastered to his head and forming tight, dripping ringlets. His skin glistens from the moisture, and Rathi's mouth waters a little. She still wants to trace the lines on his thighs, and the hollow of his throat begs for a mark.  
  
It's an oddly comfortable moment, however, as Sinoun hands her soap and the honey-lavender scent of it fills the room. They scrub themselves, occasionally stealing glances, arousal banked at a low simmer.  
  
For now.  
  
"What kind of magician, are you?" Rathi asks as she washes away the worst of the alcohol-sweat and teases her own breasts with sweeps of the soapy cloth.  
  
Sinoun works some kind of oil into his hair before twisting it back into a messy knot at the crown of his head. "You expect I'll share my secrets to a stranger?"  
  
"Why not? You've shown your cock to her," Rathi points out with a smirk.  
  
Sinoun leans back against the edge of the tub, hooking his elbows across the brim of it, exuding a lazy sensuality. "It's a nice cock. I show it to anyone who wants to use it."  
  
Rathi snorts. She can't tell if he's absurdly confident, or a dumb fool. Then again, they're not mutually exclusive.  
  
"And you," Sinoun says as he tilts his head, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip. "You speak rather crass for a lady of high esteem."  
  
"What makes you think I have esteem?"  
  
"I'm well-traveled enough to know what this means." His fingers dance over his forehead, and an approximation of the lines she usually paints on her brow briefly flicker into view before vanishing again. "Congratulations. Which domain do you hail?"  
  
Rathi lifts her chin. "If you're not going to share your secrets, then I'm going to keep what few I have."  
  
"You're right. That's unfair of me." Sinoun hums, and his lip curls into a smirk. "I will tell you one secret." He lifts a single finger. "My magic is innate. It does not come from another being. Does that even the scales?"  
  
"It's a start." Rathi tosses the used cloth over the side. Enough waiting. At this point, she's tormenting herself as much as Sinoun. She crooks a finger. "Come here."  
  
His eyes go liquid and dark again, but he obeys, slinking through the water until he's close enough to skim his hands up her thighs, thumbs sweeping inward to tease at her mound before he cups her hips.  
  
"Here?" he asks.  
  
She parts her thighs, making room between them. "Put your fingers to good use," she says and sweeps her tongue over her lips. "Impress me."  
  
Sinoun hums and leans forward, pressing his mouth to her throat, lips and teeth and tongue tasting her skin. One hand moves between her legs, where it ought to be, and Rathi sighs with delight as he strokes her folds, teasing at her swelling nub, and drags through her dense curls.  
  
She hooks an ankle around his lower back, urging him closer, and drags her blunt nails over his chest, raising small red lines in his skin. It blends with the blush -- heat or arousal or both. Judging by the little moan he makes against her throat, he likes it.  
  
His other hand cups her ass, lifting her a little, enough she can get her legs draped over him, his fingers slipping deeper into her, curving to stroke her just right. Rathi moans, her back arching, and his mouth slides down, down, latching on to a peaked nipple. His cock rubs against the back of her thigh, a firm promise of what's to come.  
  
"Oh, much, much, better," Rathi breathes, tangling her hand in his damp hair to keep his head in place.  
  
He chuckles against her breast as his thumb applies a delicate pressure to her clit. Teeth encircle her nipple, applying a light pressure, with a flick of tongue to accompany it.  
  
Rathi hisses and twists his hair around her fingers, giving it a sharp, warning pull. "Careful."  
  
Sinoun hums and moves to her other breast, nuzzling it before tasting her, lips and teeth and tongue working their magic. Each suck is a lightning bolt straight to her groin, tightening the coil in her belly. She moans and rolls her hips onto his fingers, arching up against his mouth, her clit throbbing where he circles it, again and again, applying the perfect pressure.  
  
"It's a good... start," Rathi pants as she keeps her hands tangled in his hair, scratching her fingers against his scalp, her head tilting back. Her breathing quickens. Her first release is always a quick one, like she needs that burst of pleasure for a warm-up.  
  
"Then let me see how you taste," Sinoun says, and before Rathi can protest the loss of his fingers within her, he curls his hands around her hips and lifts her lower half out of the water.  
  
Rathi will never admit the ungainly squeak that slips out of her as she's braced up against the edge of the tub. Irritation flares as her legs drape over his shoulders, and she might have snapped at him, if he hadn't immediately placed his mouth on her and licked a long, wet line over her.  
  
Rathi breathes a curse, scrambling to hold the edge of the tub, lamenting only having the one hand because she'd delight in directing his mouth where it works best. "Less licking, more sucking," she says. Verbal demands will have to do.  
  
By the gods, but he takes direction marvelously. He gives her a few more licks as though trying to memorize her taste, and then he seals his mouth around her nub and sucks. The heavy pulls arch her back, and she garbles a sound she'll deny much later. The flat of his tongue applies pressure to the underside of her clit, his teeth gently scrape over the sensitive head, and a full-body shudder takes her body.  
  
"Yessss," she hisses, rocking up against his mouth, her heels drumming against his upper back. "More. Just like that."  
  
He makes a sound against her, the vibrations carrying through her groin. Rathi moans and rocks onto his mouth, her clit throbbing to the sucking pressure, the flat of his tongue stroking to the same beat. Her thighs tremble, muscles tensing, breath coming in short bursts. Pleasure peppers through her veins, building and building, with each touch of his mouth.  
  
And then he does the most marvelous thing. He presses her clit between his teeth and flicks his tongue across the throbbing end of it -- flick, flick, flick -- and Rathi shatters.  
  
She comes with a hissed curse, her thighs squeezing in against his head, her fingers curled, her hips bucking sharply. He holds her in place, tongue laving a slow sweep over her engorged clit, a hum rising in his chest.  
  
"Gods," Rathi pants, the world spinning, her groin throbbing with heat, tingles of pleasure, though she can feel another lurking in the wings, waiting for the right impetus. "You're not useless after all." She sucks in a steadying breath, unclamps her thighs so he can move, and when she looks down, his eyes are very, very dark. Hungry.  
  
"I've earned it, yes?" he asks as he flexes his fingers on her ass and pulls her down, into his lap, his cock scraping along her inner thigh. "I can have you now?"  
  
Rathi uses the momentum and her shoulders, pushing off against the side of the tub, straddling him rather than letting him curve over her. His cock nudges along her, missing her center, and he growls a low sound of betrayed want.  
  
She grabs the back of his neck to hold herself in place and takes his mouth in a kiss, tasting herself on his lips and tongue. He relents to her control, his hands cradling her hips, holding her in place, though he rocks up, fruitless attempts to enter her. The angle is too wrong. He makes helpless, frustrated noises, and they are delicious.  
  
Sinoun squeezes her ass, a grip that belies the slightness of his frame, hinting of the fact he's definitely not as half-elf as he seems. He moans into the kiss, bucking up, but she shifts with him, and his cock can only graze the inside of her thighs, brush her lower lips, but go no further.  
  
"Why do you insist on taunting me?" Sinoun demands, his pupils blown wide, his face flushed so bright it's spread everywhere.  
  
"Because I can." Rathi nips his bottom lip and drags her mouth along the curve of his jaw, tugging on his earlobe with her teeth. "You'll have me when I let you have me and no sooner."  
  
"Did I not prove satisfactory?" he asks, and merciful gods, it's very nearly a whine, a begging, the haughty edge of his voice long gone, surrendered to the need which must be boiling inside him. "Have I not earned it?"  
  
Rathi chuckles and noses into the hollow of his throat, tonguing it before scraping her teeth over the sensitive skin. He smells of the soap here, but something else as well. Something not-quite mortal. Like Firenya's fire or the discharged magic when she'd ported into this realm. Arousal floods her body like an aching hunger.  
  
She's tormented him long enough, she thinks.  
  
"Good things come to those who wait," Rathi says with a laugh, but she cants her hips just so, and when she rocks down, the head of his cock tilts to the perfect angle. She takes just the head of him, and they moan in unison as she flutters around the sensitive crown.  
  
He wobbles, head tilting back, baring the column of his throat. It demands a mark, so Rathi latches onto it, sucking a crimson blossom against his skin. There. Something to remember her by. At least until it heals at any rate.  
  
"More," he demands, his fingers massaging her ass, but interestingly, not yanking her down. He's letting her dictate the pace, and that surrender of control is absolutely perfect.  
  
"Don't you dare spill until I've had mine," Rathi tells him as she starts to move, rising up and sinking down, taking him deep and focusing on clenching her muscles around his cock. He's the perfect size to stroke deep inside her, nudging that special spot which always makes her see stars.  
  
Sinoun licks his lips, his pupils blown wide, his cock thickening inside her. "I make no promises," he says as one hand slides up her back, fingers digging into her skin, just shy of bruiseworthy, like it takes all he has to restrain himself.  
  
Rathi shivers, but she keeps her pace slow and even, working herself the way she likes it. Sinking deep, rolling her hips in circles, clenching. Rising up until only the head is within her, than back down again, swallowing him in an achingly slow motion.  
  
Her grip on the back of his neck squeezes and loosens, to match the motion of her hips. Her breathing quickens, even more so when his hand dips between them, his fingers seeking her mound, and rubbing gentle circles over her clit. It's perfect, so perfect, and Rathi moans, her hips moving faster, more urgently.  
  
"Cheater," she says.  
  
Sinoun laughs, low and deep. "I prefer to think of it as fast-tracking toward what I want."  
  
Since it’s putting her on the path to what she wants as well, Rathi’s not inclined to punish him too much for it. He’s as good with his fingers as he was with his tongue, knowing the perfect pressure, the perfect motion, to build her pleasure properly.  
  
“Fine,” Rathi says and rocks her hips harder, riding the thickness of his cock, the press of his fingers, her nipples grazing his chest, the brief brush of contact both erotic and a tease. “As long as I get what I want.”  
  
“That I can certainly promise,” Sinoun rumbles, and the vibrations of his voice seem to thrum through her entire body like a spark of lightning.  
  
She moans and rides him harder, slamming down, again and again, her hips canting against his finger as she grips the back of his neck. She pushes his mouth to hers and kisses him, lips and tongues tangling, the taste of magic rising in the air like it has tangible presence. He throbs inside her, perfectly thick, perfectly hot, and Rathi hisses her pleasure, which builds inside of her, a pressure at the base of her spine, a tightness in her belly, a tension to her muscles.  
  
She cants her hips and -- ah! there! -- the head of his cock hits that spot inside of her and sparks dance behind her eyes. She yanks Sinoun’s head back, latches her mouth on his throat. She rides him jerkily, losing her rhythm, and he rubs firm circles around her clit, over and over and over--  
  
Rathi comes with a sharp cry, teeth pressing in on Sinoun’s throat but not enough to draw blood, just a blunt pressure. She jerks, hips working in sharp rolls, thighs pressing on his hips, as lightning sparks through her body, across her skin, and the water steams when fire licks briefly over her flesh.  
  
Sinoun growls and grips her hips, abruptly thrusting up into her, through the tremors of her release. She squeaks in surprise as a burst of too much-not enough riots through her body, and she hooks her arm over his shoulders, digging her knees into the rough bottom of the tub.  
  
“Might I have mine now?” he asks, though it seems a moot point since he’s intent on taking it.  
  
Rathi manages a wry, breathless laugh, her body tingling, clenching and rippling around his cock as it pushes into her, over and over, faster and faster, a desperate pace. “I suppose you’ve earned it,” she says, breath hitching, and matches his rhythm, slamming down as he thrusts up, and his fingers press against her skin, hard enough to bruise were she any more delicate.  
  
She’d left a mark on his throat, she notices, so she licks it, traces it with her tongue, and he moans, rhythm stuttering before it picks up again.  
  
His forehead presses to her shoulder, his exhalations puffing against her damp skin, his facial hair occasionally sending a rough rasp that makes her tingle. “You’re molten inside, my dear,” he says, and Rathi grins as she nips his ear.  
  
“Well, that’s my secret to keep as to why,” Rathi purrs and grinds down, rolling her hips in circles, making him jerk beneath her. He moans and mutters something in a language she doesn’t know, but the cadence sounds like pleading, so she preens.  
  
She grinds down, fucks him as much as he fucks her, and while he’s gripping her hips, while he’s the one thrusting up into her, Rathi takes over the pace soon enough. He’s helpless to her rhythm, to the rock of her body against his.  
  
“Come on,” Rathi urges as Sinoun’s motions get more desperate and frantic, the last dance toward release. “Give it to me. Spill inside me. Come.”  
  
“Fuck,” Sinoun gasps, and he jerks her down, fingers like iron bars, as he thrusts up. There’s a flash of something in the air, something like the crack of lightning, and Rathi’s hair stands on end, pleasure licking in a final spurt through her body.  
  
Sinoun breathes another string of nonsense syllables, and she knows he’s spilling, pleasure written in that beautiful mix of ecstasy and agony on his pretty face. His eyes flash with magic before they vanish behind his eyelids, so Rathi kisses him, tasting whatever weird arcane thing Sinoun is on his lips.  
  
His grip eases, less a desperate hold, and Rathi can pull back from being crushed against him. He’s far, far stronger than he looks.  
  
“Well,” Rathi says with a breathless, lazy grin, her nethers still thrumming with the aftershocks of an orgasm or two, her limbs languid and now demanding sleep. “See? Much better when we’re not drunk.”  
  
Sinoun snorts a laugh and palms her ass, giving it a playful squeeze. “Now I’m tempted to keep you.”  
  
“Good luck with that. I’m not about to be kept.” Rathi wriggles, her thighs aching a bit from the extended stretch, though it’s the good kind of ache. She’s going to walk away with bruises, but they are the best kind of bruises. “Though if we meet again, I wouldn’t be opposed to another round. Perhaps this time with a bed.”  
  
“Beds have their uses,” Sinoun agrees with a lazy smile.  
  
“Exactly.” Rathi hums and drags her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Like posts, for example, where I can bind your hands.”  
  
“That suggestion has merit,” Sinoun murmurs.  
  
Something bangs on the door to their shared bath, loud enough to make Rathi startle and Sinoun jump beneath her.  
  
“Attention honored customers,” a voice drones, lacking any sort of inflection. “There is a time limit for use of these facilities. Please respond accordingly.”  
  
Rathi shares a glance with Sinoun, who rolls his eyes but lifts her from his lap with ridiculous ease. Rathi gets shaky legs beneath her and stands, water streaming from her body, and Sinoun pulls her back toward him by the hips. He bites her hipbone playfully, and the scrape of his teeth and beard stubble makes her shiver.  
  
The attendant knocks again.  
  
“We’ll be right out!” Rathi says, raising her voice to be heard, and resisting the urge to tangle her fingers in Sinoun’s hair and direct his mouth a little bit further south, and a bit more to the left. He’d done so well the first time, after all.  
  
“It seems we are out of time,” Sinoun says as he leans away from her, grabbing washcloth and soap again.  
  
“They’re so impatient,” Rathi grumbles, but he has a point.  
  
They bathe quickly, or finish bathing at any rate. Rathi has the coin to pay for more time, but honestly, she’s gotten what she’s wanted out of this. No need to drag it out.  
  
“Tell you what,” Sinoun says as he pulls out of the bath first, wrapping his hair in a towel to squeeze out the excess moisture. “I’ll give you another hint about me, if you tell me a bit more about the fire.”  
  
Rathi tilts her head as she considers. She pulls out of the bath, swiping at herself with a towel. “My father’s genasi,” she says. “And my mother is an alary.” There. Pretty basic information. There are many like her all across the world, borne of various combinations of elemental, fallen, alary and more.  
  
Sinoun nods and twists his hair into a loose coif. “Ah. Makes sense.” He starts to pull on his clothes, which are remarkably unwrinkled and cleaner than they were before he took them off, if Rathi has to guess.  
  
“And I,” he says, pausing as though weighing several answers before choosing the one least likely to not bite him in the ass, “I am not mortal, as you likely already guessed, though I am no god either. What I am, well, there are few in this world who’d know.” He grins, long and slow, and a bit like a predator, Rathi thinks.  
  
He reminds her of the jaguars slinking through the tangled jungle, their eyes ever assessing, their limbs tense and ready to pounce. They’re always dangerous, but occasionally, they approach for scraps of food or to test their boundaries with those in tamed lands.  
  
“I suppose I should think I’m lucky then,” Rathi asks as she pulls on her own clothing, albeit with less grace than Sinoun had. She’s had months of practice with the one hand, but she’s yet to recapture her old grace.  
  
“You’re definitely one of a kind.” Sinoun steps up beside her and idly tugs her breastband into place, his touch lingering against her skin. “When it comes to luck, mmm, I’m not one to say.”  
  
Rathi snorts and pulls on her tunic. She slides into her shoes, fits her breastplate around her torso, and slings her bag over her shoulder. She casts around the room, in case she’s left anything behind.  
  
They open the door, and an attendant stands outside of it, tapping his foot impatiently, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s younger than the one at the front desk, but he seems to have perfected the same bored expression.  
  
“There is a service fee,” he says and holds out a hand. “Six silver for the extended stay.”  
  
Rathi can’t help it; she laughs. “Real stickler for the rules, aren’t you all?” she says as Sinoun digs out the silver and drops it into the attendant’s hand.  
  
“Thank you for your business,” the man says and gives her that tight, insincere smile which seems to be the staple of anyone she’s ever met in the service industry. The kind of smile that secretly says “fuck off if you please”.  
  
He gestures toward the exit.  
  
Outside, Rathi and Sinoun share a glance before dissolving into chuckles. It’s bright out here, the sun high in the sky, baking her skin the minute she steps under it. She feels wonderfully refreshed, the illness of the previous night’s indulgence a mere distant memory.  
  
“Well, that was fun,” Rathi says as she adjusts her bag on her shoulder. She’d wave, but her hand’s busy. “I suppose I’ll see you around sometime.”  
  
“Perhaps in the next city,” Sinoun agrees as he taps his chin, idly scratching his perfectly trimmed facial hair.  
  
“You don’t even know where I’m going.”  
  
“Honestly, I don’t know where I’m going either.” Sinoun flashes her a smile, and for once it’s a genuine thing, full of true amusement. “Such is the way of things.”  
  
“Two wandering souls, and ever their paths shall cross,” Rathi murmurs before she shrugs and dismisses it. Now’s not the time to be quoting the tales of her youth.  
  
Sinoun hums and tilts his head. “I like that.” He strokes his chin again before flashing her a grin. “Well, it was fun. Thanks for the memories.” He gestures toward her with two fingers before turning to go, loping southward.  
  
“Thanks for the ring!” Rathi shouts after him.  
  
He waves at her over his shoulder.  
  
Rathi chuckles and decides to go the opposite direction. Not that she has any real destination in mind. She’s found no mention of Eryen, though she had heard talk of some traveling entertainment performing at one of the taverns tonight. Perhaps she’ll stay in the city a little longer to see it.  
  
She’s got time before she has to take the throne. She plans to enjoy every minute of it.  
  


***

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback, as always, is greatly welcome and appreciated.


End file.
